


Who do we really blame?

by Parapines



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:25:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parapines/pseuds/Parapines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thinking back this could all be blamed on his good friend Courfeyrac, or the authors that kept blaming him, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who do we really blame?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arsonist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsonist/gifts).



**When he thinks back on it it really was the fault of his good friend **-****

"Ugh!" Enjolras exclaimed, closing the browser window and leaning back in his desk chair.

He'd had a long day and only just finished a paper that had been giving him trouble. He was just settling in to de-stress but there seemed to be this certain kink of sameness about anon meme fills right now that was driving him up the wall.  
  
"Is it really so hard..." he mumbled to himself, recovering the tab he'd closed in frustration. Scanning the story it wasn't so bad, if sort of cliché, but the opener was so over used that It hurt to read it. He scrolled back over to his email tab and scanned the headers for another story featuring his OTP.

 "AU- Future, SCI-FI hmmm..." Enjolras clicked the link.

 **Stardate XX34, If he had to guess it was the fault of-**  
   
"Augh." 

Enjolras slammed his fist down on the desk edge, his chair rolling backwards across the wood floor with the force of it. When the wheels stopped the room was totally silent. He leaned his weight against the arm of the desk chair, defeat evident in his posture.

"Alright in there?" Came a voice from behind the door.  
  
"Ngh." Enjolras replied.  
  
"Okay well...there's apple crumble in the kitchen if you want any later." The voice replied, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating.

Enjolras wondered if he should tell Combeferre to stop baking so much at 11pm but figured it wouldn't do any good, that was college life for you.

He threw his weight sideways and the chair rolled a little to the left, then gave in and set his feet on the ground to propel himself forward, grabbing the desk in a grandly awkward gesture. Thankfully no one was watchinng. He grumbled under his breath and grudgingly read the rest of the fanfic anyway. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the desk and downed it, slamming the empty bottle on the arm of the chair.  
  
"It's even infected the aus now... the space aus..." He muttered. "Maybe...maybe canon era..."

He scrolled down his notifications. It was surprisingly hard to find what he was looking for but soon enough-  
  
"Aha!"  
  
He dragged his cursor along the description as he read it aloud absently. "Canon era, getting-them-together," Enjolras clicked the link. A huge authors note greeted him but he scrolled down the text patiently.

**It has come to his attention that perhaps it was true that THIS ENTIRE SITUATION COULD BE BLAMED ON **-****

Combeferre heard a bang and a crash followed by a flurry of footsteps. He set his pie pan down gently. 

"FERRE!" A harried looking Enjolras stood in the kitchen doorway his hands on the door frame as if he has used it to pull himself in. He had a notebook under his arm.

"HOW DOES ONE WRITE A NARRATIVE?"

 


End file.
